Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Isit on the edge of our bed, my mind racing with everything that's happened.
The doctors insisted Lucrezia stay at the hospital for observation, although Damiano wanted to provide her medical help in home.
After making sure she was settled with security outside her door, Damiano wanted to return home to change and regroup.
The door opens and Damiano walks in, freshly showered and looking less battered, but the weight of recent events still visible in his eyes. He sits beside me on the bed, his presence both comforting and intimidating.
"Tell me about your life with Byron," he says softly, his hand finding mine.
I take a deep breath, memories flooding back. "I was raised like a princess," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. "Designer clothes, private schools, lavish vacations. Byron spared no expense."
Damiano's hand tightens around mine, encouraging me to continue.
"But there was always a catch," I explain, feeling the familiar twist of anger and hurt in my gut. "Every gift, every privilege came with a reminder of why I needed his care in the first place."
I meet Damiano's gaze, seeing the pain reflected there. "He never let me forget that you were the reason I was an orphan. That you had taken everything from me."
Damiano's jaw clenches, but he remains silent, letting me speak.
"I grew up hating you," I admit, the words feeling strange on my tongue now. "It was like a fire Byron constantly stoked. Every birthday, every milestone, he'd remind me of what I'd lost because of you."
Tears begin to fall as I continue, "I thought I knew who you were. I thought I knew what I felt. But then I met you, and everything changed."
I cup Damiano's face with my free hand, our eyes locked. "I realized I could love you so much more than I ever hated you. That the real monster was the man who raised me, not the one he taught me to fear."
Damiano pulls me into his arms, and I feel the tension in his body. "I'm so sorry, Zoe," he murmurs into my hair. "For everything you've been through."
I curl my fingers around Damiano's, drawing strength from his touch as we sit on the edge of our bed.
"Tell me about your life," I whisper, squeezing his hand. "All these years since Bianca... since that night. How are you feeling now that you know the truth about Byron?"
Damiano's eyes darken, and for a moment I think he might not answer. His jaw works as he stares at our joined hands.
"For twelve years, I've been a ghost." he finally says, his voice rough.
I stay silent, giving him space to continue.
"I continued running this empire because it was the only way I knew how to survive," he continues. "I became what everyone feared because fear kept people away, and away meant safe."
"When Byron told me the truth—that he orchestrated everything—" Damiano pauses, his breathing ragged. "I wanted to tear him apart with my bare hands. Not just for Bianca, but for you. For your father."
His eyes meet mine, filled with a pain so raw it makes my chest ache.
"I blamed myself for not protecting her. For not seeing the danger coming." His voice drops to a whisper. "And then I blamed myself for letting you in, for putting you at risk the same way."
I touch his face, feeling the stubble beneath my fingertips. "You couldn't have known."
"The truth is, I've been living half a life," he admits. "Ruling through fear while being ruled by it. When Byron told me everything—how he manipulated your father, killed Bianca, used you—I realized he'd been controlling both our lives all this time."
His hand moves to my stomach, resting there with surprising gentleness.
"Now I feel..." He searches for the words. "Rage. Relief. Like I can finally breathe after drowning for years. And terrified that I'll fail you and our child the way I failed her."
I can't resist anymore. I grab and kiss her. Zoe's hands are everywhere, tugging at my clothes, urging me closer. I can feel her heat, her need, and it ignites a fire in my veins.
I capture her mouth with mine, swallowing her moans as I back her towards the bed. She falls onto the mattress, her blonde hair fanning out around her like a halo. I drink in the sight of her, my gaze raking over her curves, the swell of her breasts, the length of her legs.
"You're so beautiful," I murmur, my voice rough with desire. "My lupacchiotta."
I cover her body with mine, my hands sliding under her shirt, skimming over the soft skin of her stomach. She arches into my touch, her nails digging into my back.
"I need you," she gasps, her hips rocking against mine.
I oblige, tearing her shirt open, sending buttons flying. Her breasts spill free, and I groan at the sight, the feel of them in my hands. I take a nipple into my mouth, suckling, biting, until she's writhing beneath me.
My hand slips under her skirt, finding her wet and ready. She cries out as I stroke her, my fingers teasing her slick folds, circling her clit. I can feel her tightening, her body coiled like a spring.
"Not yet, amore mio," I murmur, pulling away. "I want to taste you."
I kiss my way down her body, my tongue trailing over her skin. I push her skirt up, exposing her to my hungry gaze. She's perfect, pink and glistening, and I can't wait any longer.
I bury my face between her thighs, my tongue delving into her depths. She tastes divine, sweet and salty, and I lap at her greedily. I focus on her clit, sucking and licking, driving her higher and higher.
Her hands fist in my hair, her thighs clamping around my head. "Damiano!" she cries, her voice raw with pleasure. "Don't stop, please don't stop."
I redouble my efforts, determined to make her come undone. I slide two fingers inside her, pumping them in time with my tongue. She's so tight, so hot, and I can feel her fluttering around me.
"That's it," I encourage her, my words muffled against her flesh. "Let go. Come for me."
With a keening moan, she does, her body convulsing, her juices flooding my mouth. I drink her in, prolonging her pleasure, until she collapses back onto the bed, spent and satisfied.
I crawl up her body, kissing her deeply, letting her taste herself on my tongue. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer.
"I need you inside me," she whispers, her eyes blazing with desire. "Now."
I don't need to be told twice. I free my aching cock, rubbing the head through her slick folds, teasing her entrance. She whimpers, her hips lifting, seeking more.
Slowly, I push inside her, inch by delicious inch. She's so tight, so hot, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from coming right then and there. When I'm fully seated, I pause, savoring the feeling of her around me.
"Damiano," she breathes, her voice trembling. "You feel so good."
I begin to move, slowly at first, then faster, harder. The bed creaks beneath us, the sound mingling with our moans and the slap of skin on skin. I bury my face in her neck, inhaling her scent, feeling her pulse flutter against my lips.
She meets me thrust for thrust, her nails raking down my back, her teeth sinking into my shoulder. The pain only heightens my pleasure, driving me wild.
"Cum with me," I growl, my voice strained. "I want to feel you come apart around me."
She nods, her eyes squeezing shut, her body tensing. I can feel her tightening, her walls fluttering around me, and I know she's close.
"That's it," I pant, my hips snapping against hers. "Come for me. Now."
With a scream, she does, her body shuddering, her nails digging into my shoulders. I follow a second later, my vision whiting out, my cock pulsing inside her as I spill myself deep within her.
We collapse together, a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and racing hearts. I gather her into my arms, holding her close, savoring the feeling of her against me.
"I love you," I murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "My lupacchiotta."
"I love you too," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "My Damiano."
We lay there for a long moment, basking in the afterglow, the world narrowed down to just the two of us. But even as I hold her, I can't shake the feeling that this is just the beginning.
That our love, our passion, is just the first step in a long, dangerous journey. A journey that will test us, challenge us, push us to our limits.
But whatever comes, I know one thing for certain. Zoe is my future, my destiny. And I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe, to make her mine.
Forever.
I hold Zoe against my chest, our heartbeats slowly returning to normal.
"I have to go," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her temple.
Zoe shifts in my arms, looking up at me with those green eyes that see too much. "Now? It's late."
I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. "There's something I need to take care of."
Understanding darkens her gaze. She knows exactly what—or rather who—I'm going to deal with. The men who hurt Lucrezia. The men who touched what was mine.
"Damiano..." She doesn't say more, doesn't try to stop me. She understands what family means.
I slide out of bed, my muscles protesting after everything we've been through today. I dress quickly, pulling on black pants and a black shirt. Nothing that will show bloodstains.
"Will you be long?" she asks, pulling the sheet up to cover herself.
"Don't wait up." I strap on my shoulder holster, sliding my Beretta into place. The weight of the gun is familiar, comforting. "I'll be back before dawn."
She nods, a shadow crossing her face. "Be careful."
I lean down and kiss her hard, memorizing the taste of her lips. "I will, lupacchiotta."
Twenty minutes later, I pull up to the warehouse in Red Hook. It's one of our secondary locations, used for situations like this. The kind that require privacy and soundproofing.
Enzo meets me at the door, his expression grim. "They're inside. Been waiting for you."
"Lucrezia?" I ask, checking my gun.
"The doctors gave her something to help her sleep." Enzo's jaw tightens. "She'll be out till morning."
Good. What I'm about to do isn't something I want my sister to know about. Some brutality is better kept in the shadows, even in our world.
"And Zoe?" he asks.
"At home."
We walk through the dim corridor, our footsteps echoing on the concrete. At the end of the hall, Alessio waits outside a metal door, smoking a cigarette.
"They're all yours," he says, stepping aside. "All the tools you requested are inside."
I nod, steeling myself for what comes next. Vengeance isn't always swift. Sometimes it needs to be slow. Methodical. A lesson written in pain and blood.
"No one disturbs me," I say, my voice hard as the concrete beneath my feet. "No matter what you hear."
Enzo and Alessio exchange glances but nod. They understand. This is family business.
I push open the door and step inside. Two men hang from chains in the center of the room, battered but conscious. They look up as I enter, and I see the moment recognition hits. The moment fear takes hold.
Good. They should be afraid.
I close the door behind me and roll up my sleeves.
"Gentlemen," I say, my voice eerily calm as I approach the table of tools. "Let's talk about my sister."